


Cell Block Tango

by Sintari (OriginalSintari)



Series: Sintari's Wincestmas 2019 Ficlets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Supernatural later seasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalSintari/pseuds/Sintari
Summary: “Dean,” Sam’s whispering now, too. “We are literally incarcerated.”Dean’s fingers are threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck now, gently insistent. And then not so gently.“Right. So what are they going to do? Throw us in jail?”
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Sintari's Wincestmas 2019 Ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597102
Comments: 6
Kudos: 91





	Cell Block Tango

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely [Caffeinechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/pseuds/caffeinechesters) for Wincestmas 2019/2020.

Sam turns on Dean as soon as the cell door clangs shut and the jailer is safely out of earshot. “This is your fault.”

“How is it my fault that our aliases had warrants?

“You and your stupid rock star names. Apparently ever other criminal thinks like you.” 

“Whoa now. How many times do I have to tell you I identify as an ‘outlaw’?”

Sam sighs before plopping down on the holding cell’s single metal bench. It’s been years since he’d been in holding, and he supposes he should think his lucky stars that they’re here in Nowhere County, Nebraska (less than 50 miles from the bunker, dammit) rather than some big city where they’d be sharing the space with well, an assortment of characters nearly as bizarre as the ones who currently populate his and his brother’s life. 

A burned out taillight, them without enough gas to run, and a county notorious for assigning its cops ticket quotas. What a stupid, stupid mistake. Roger Waters and David Gilmour will have to go in front of a judge in a couple of hours when the sun rises. So instead of one of the bunker’s blessed hot showers and sleeping in what Sam is slowly starting to think of as _his_ bed, it’s a metal bench of a bed and a crackling fluorescent light for a night light tonight. Hooray.

He’s casting his eyes around for something they can use to pick the cell door’s lock in case this goes south, but mainly thinking he’ll just ride this out to teach Dean his lesson. Besides, it would be a real chore to be wanted (again) in a county so close to home.

“Bedtime, ladies,” a bored male voice calls from down the hall, and the lights dim as far as Sam suspects they go, leaving them in shadow.

His brother has been leaning against the bars, probably playing out some fantasy of a wronged bad boy waiting for his woman to sneak him a file baked into an apple pie.

“You know what would be great right now?” Dean says, as if reading his mind. “Pie and a cigarette.” 

Sam scoffs. “I’m so glad you never got addicted. You’d be even more of a pain in my ass to live with than you are now.”

“I know. Yellow fingers. Yellow teeth,” Dean says.

“Smoker’s cough,” Sam lists.

“Pretty sexy though, sometimes, right?” Dean’s got his back to the bars now, facing Sam. He holds two fingers up and brings an invisible cigarette to his lips. Pouts.

“You were,” Sam says, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to go all soft like that.

One of Dean’s eyebrows quirks up. “Even back then?” And he isn’t asking if he was sexy at twenty-one, all leather jacket and true believer. Oh, he knew. His brother has always known.

“I was what, sixteen, when you went through your Marlboro Man phase? I wasn’t blind.” 

“Huh.” Dean sits next to him on the bench now, slings one arm over Sam’s shoulder. 

Not a single jailer has walked by since they were unceremoniously dumped in here, but Dean still lowers his voice, speaks right into the shell of Sam’s ear. “I don’t believe you.” 

All the little hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand at attention. He swallows. “Dean.”

Dean’s rubbing little circles on the back of Sam’s flannel. His brother’s voice is still raspy in his ear. “I think you’re going to have to show me.” 

“Dean,” Sam’s whispering now, too. “We are literally incarcerated.” 

Dean’s fingers are threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck now, gently insistent. And then not so gently. 

“Right. So what are they going to do? Throw us in jail?” 

Much to his eternal detriment, Sam’s never been able to refuse his brother. Dean must feel the moment when Sam’s shoulders square for the task at hand, because he chuckles, low and happy. 

“Stand by the bars so you can watch for the guard,” Sam instructs, hardly believing what he’s allowing himself to do. But when he drops to his knees in front of his brother, he knows that he’ll never take this privilege for granted. Not this. 

And suddenly it really is like they’re teenagers again. They divide the work. Dean is practically giggling as he unbuckles his belt. Sam takes the zipper between his thumb and forefinger but waits for Dean’s eyes to meet his own before he tugs. 

Dean inhales through his nose then, and Sam watches his boxers tent as he hardens. Hardens just from looking down the length of his body to where Sam waits. 

Dean’s staring, so Sam has to hiss, “Look for the guard!” That shakes Dean out of his reverie, he looks both ways outside the bars, then flashes Sam a cheesy thumbs up. Some days, Sam couldn’t love his brother more. 

Then he licks up the underside of his brother’s shaft, and from the noises Dean’s making, well, he’s pretty sure Dean feels the same way. 

Sam takes the time to lick a circle around his brother’s head, then flick his tongue at the slit, tasting the pre-come there.

“Sammy,” Dean grunts. Sam flattens his tongue under his brother’s head, looks up.

“Oh fuck,” Dean’s pupils are big cat-wide in the dim light, and Sam feels his brother’s cock jump on his tongue. Then Dean looks guiltily around again because that was really loud. When his brother’s attention is diverted, Sam takes him all down, once, then twice. 

Dean groans, and if that didn’t bring footsteps running then nothing will. 

Dean’s clasping Sam’s head, fingers in his hair, mindlessly running his thumb over his cheekbone, staring again. But he masters himself and pulls Sam’s hair a little. To pause him.

His brother is looking down at him and smiling that smile that says he’s just scored free pie or come up with a particularly inspired hybrid monster name. “Sammy, you know this means you’re going to have to swallow. Can’t explain away that mess.” 

Making the most innocent face he can make around a cock in his mouth, Sam shrugs in a wordless okay. That tears another groan out of his brother’s mouth and Sam uses the opportunity to increase his momentum. As much as he’d like to drag this out, well… Jail. 

“But next time,” his brother grinds out, “I want to see my come on your pretty face.” 

And now Sam’s working on his own mess to explain away. 

In the distance, a buzzer then the grind and scrape of a heavy metal door. Dean stiffens. Sam doesn’t let up. He takes his mouth away just long enough to look up at his brother and demand, “Come in my mouth.” 

He works faster as the footsteps approach at a lazy clip. He feels his brother’s cock tense in his mouth.

Sam keeps his promise. There’s no mess to clean up.

By the time the jailer arrives, with cartons of 2% milk and knockoff Oatmeal Cream Pies, Sam and Dean are sitting side by side on the bench. 

“Don’t make me have to come back here,” the jailer warns after he hands over the food.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Dean calls after him, then serenades him on his way out by whistling the theme song from the Andy Griffith Show.

When the footsteps fade, Dean leers at Sam, flicks his eyes to his own crotch, and then back to Sam's mouth. “We got a couple hours. I mean… _maybe_ we could explain the mess?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love! Come obsess over Wincest with me on [Tumblr](https://crooked-sleep.tumblr.com/post/189694659249/supernatural-mostly-wincest-fic-master-list-i)!


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